


Pressing Flowers

by Leoblooms



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Lennison - Freeform, M/M, fluff with a bit of drama, storefront au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8381047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leoblooms/pseuds/Leoblooms
Summary: Based on an au by tumblr user, gal-ix, where John is a bookstore owner, while George is a florist.George Harrison runs a family owned flower shop just across from a bookshop owned by a loner, John Lennon. They normally keep their interactions to a polite wave, but nothing more. However, when George has taken over the shop mostly by himself, something strange happens. His flowers all begin to shrivel and dry up. Perplexed, he turns to the bookshop for a book on gardening that would lead him to an answer. There he formally meets John, and everything changes from there.





	

George sighed to himself, lightly running his fingertips down one of the withered roses that sat on the counter. He didn’t understand why it was doing this. He had been watering them often and made sure the roses had ample sunlight. Still, here they were, dried up, with the petals crumbling away. George was never a bad gardener. In fact, he was often praised growing up for his skills, but that all changed when he had to take over the shop. His mother assured him that it was just the roses, that he was doing a fantastic job running the shop. But how could George believe it when he could not even keep a rose alive long enough to make a sale? George knew he had to figure this out, but he wasn’t sure how. Then it dawned on him as he solemnly looked out of the shop window, across the street.  

There, had been a book shop run by a lone man named, John Lennon. George knew of the owner, but never quite talked to him. Their interactions were kept at a distance, and limited to the polite smile and wave. Though, he heard others talk of John and his shop. That John was a bit of a hermit, keeping to himself, but was quite friendly, perhaps too friendly. But apart from that, many said that his shop had just about any book on any subject you could imagine. Someone even swore at one point that there was a copy of the Necronomicon buried away. Perhaps there would at least be one book on gardening? 

 George always saw himself as not needing help when it came to these things. He would usually be leery of seeking advice from others, as he viewed himself as an independent. However, he was desperate to know what was wrong with these flowers. So, swallowing his pride, he left his shop to go across the street to the small book shop.  

A bell chimed as the florist pushed open the glass door, causing John, who sat at the counter, to look up from his book. His auburn hair was not nearly as long as George’s scruffy brown hair, and his shaven face combatted the thick hair on George’s upper lip. He pushed his circular glasses up the bridge of his nose and grinned. 

“Fancy seeing you here!” he said, closing his book and placing it to the side. “You’re George, right? From across the street?” 

“Yeah, hi, Mr. Lennon, um, have you got…” George tried to articulate, peering around the shop. He had to wonder how a person could find anything in here. The shelves were stocked to the brim with seemingly mismatched books, varying in size and color. Not only that, but books even littered the floor in their own little mountains of hardback and paperback. Some were stacked up to George’s hip, maybe even higher.  

“What was that?” John asked. “I haven’t got any blank books, son.”   

“Oh, uh, I was actually asking if you had any books on gardening?” George spat out. 

“Gardening? Thought you knew about all that stuff? You’re a florist ain’t you?” a blush crept on George’s face. He  _was_  a florist, and he should know about gardening, yet here he was.  

“I am.” he said firmly. He looked at the ground, then back at John's brown eyes. George saw nothing but judgement in them, whether that was true or not. “I’m just having a bit of trouble, okay?!” he raised his normally quiet voice. 

“No need to get defensive.” John put his hands up. He brushed off his brown pinstriped coat, and adjusted his hat with a long red feather sticking out of it, before coming around the counter to approach an annoyed George. He gave a wide eyed smile, that only accentuated his brown eyes, and contrasted George’s deep frown. George made the judgment that there was a reason nobody ever took the time to be around this man often. He was a strange one, who gave the impression that he lived solely in his own little world. George had to doubt that he even realize what he just said was hurtful. John turned and gestured for George to follow. 

“Come on now, it should be over with the G’s. G for Georgie, right?” he chuckled, but George just nodded at the use of a nickname rather than his actual name. John seemed disappointed that he barely got a reaction, but shrugged it off as they rounded the corner of a tall shelf marked, ‘G.’  

“Here we are!” he said, arms outstretched. “Go on and have a look.” George did so, scanning the disorganized shelves. The books were not in alphabetical order, or any type of order. They weren’t even in order by size as small paperbacks were squashed between large hardbacks.  

“These aren’t even in order!” George groaned. 

“That’s what gives it some excitement!” John pointed out. 

“Excitement?” George raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes! Books you’d never see while searching can be found. Never know what you might find while searching.” George wanted to point how again how disorganized and inconvenient that was, but held back at the sight of how excited the older man seemed. George almost felt guilty for even thinking about bringing the bookshop owner down. George continued to search the shelves, not exactly wanting to find anything except for a gardening book. George was sure it would take forever to find a specific book in this disorganized set up. He watched in awestruck as the older man actually began to grab books off of the shelves and resting them on the floor in more piles. Books on giraffes, ghosts, and geology surrounded them as John intently searched. 

“Here’s one!” John exclaimed, picking a small, green book with the title,  _Your Garden and You_. John presented the book to George, who was stuck in a state of surprise at how quickly John found the book. The bookshop owner presented the book proudly. 

“So how much is it?” George asked. 

“For you, free.” John answered. 

“You don’t want anything?”  

“Well, maybe a kiss?” John pressed a finger to his cheek. George, taken aback, blushed and began to stutter a response. John chortled. “Only teasing. Yeah, you can have it for free. We’re neighbors after all.” George’s heart began to beat normally again as a smile tugged on the corners of his lips.  

“Thanks, Mr. Lennon.” he said, taking the book.  

“You can call me John, Georgie.” there he was again with that nickname. George couldn’t find it in him to complain, though. He was actually starting to find it endearing, along with the rest of the odd man. George gave a smile and nodded, strolling out of the shop, back to the flower shop.  

\---

Days went by and the florist became too caught up in his gardening to think about his interaction with the bookshop owner. Not that he was forgotten, he was simply just pushed to the back of his mind as George needed to read as much of the book as he could to find the answer. His mother, who sat at the counter with the cash register most of the day, would complain about her son having his nose buried in the book while trying to look after the plants. She told him countless times that he doesn’t need a book to tell him what he needed to do, he could do it on his own. But George couldn’t believe her as his flowers withered and dried before him.  

George must have read the book at least ten times, each attempt leaving his poor plants in a worse state than before. The book gave basic advice such as certain soil to use, or the correct amount of water needed. None of it helped in the slightest. The flowershop was becoming greyer, as more formerly colorful petals shriveled. It got to the point that George became so angry and frustrated, that he actually blamed John in his mind. ‘He gave me this terrible book on purpose!’ George thought to himself. He slammed the book down, rubbing his temples. Shooting a glare across the street, he snatched the book and stomped over. 

“Geo!” John called, jumping from behind a stack of books. John took the feathered hat he also wore during their last visit off and held it in his hands. “So good to see you again! How’s the book?” 

“It didn’t work.” he answered coldly.  

“Well that’s not good. You sure you’ve been reading it right?” 

“I’ve read it ten times!” Goeorge complained. 

“Eleven’s a charm.” John responded. 

“Not when you’ve got a shop to run. I want to return it.” he slammed the book on the counter. 

“But I gave it to you. You won’t get any money back.”  

“I don’t care, take it back.” George shook his head, choking on frustrated tears. How was he going to run a flower shop if he couldn’t even keep a flower alive?! He was going to ruin everything his parents worked so hard for. He should have never taken up the offer to help out. A shot of pain shot through the younger man’s head as he tried to remain stoic.  

“Hey, hey, come on now. No need to get upset, I’ll get you another book!” John told him, hoping that would comfort the clearly bothered florist.  

“Don’t bother! It won’t do anything! Nothing will work!” George wailed, shoving the book closer to John. 

“Not with that tone, son.” John said. “Come with me in the back for some tea, yeah? Get you a bit calmed down.” John stuck his thumb behind him, tugging on the florist’s multi colored shirt. George gave a sigh and begrudgingly followed.  

The back room was incredibly small and cramped, with even more books scattered on the floor. A tiny table with chairs to match, and one of the smallest stoves George had ever seen. John took the kettle, filling it halfway in the sink across the room, and placed it on the lit burner. Placing two cups, each with a teabag placed in it, on the table, John took a seat. He patted the other seat, and George moved to sit down. George let out a huff as he collapsed in the seat.  

“So what seems to be the problem, Georgie?” John asked in his best impression of a therapist.  

“I’m a terrible gardener. That's the problem.” George glumly said. 

“I’ve been across from your family's shop for years, and I’ve seen you garden outside. You’re anything but terrible.” John reached across the table to put his hand over George’s. George yanked it away like he was being burned. 

“Then why are my flowers dying? Why is it that no matter what I try, they only get worse??”  

“Maybe it’s the flowers?” John suggested. 

“You sound like my mum.” he snorted.  

“I should hope that’s a good thing.” George chuckled. “Finally got a laugh!” John said triumphantly.  

“You’re lucky I’m low enough to laugh at anything.” George said, staring at his empty cup. 

“I wouldn’t call it lucky, you’re cuter when you’re smiling.” George looked up from his teacup, his face feeling warm.  

“You think so, Mr. Lennon?” his heart skipped a beat. It was then that the kettle began to whistle, breaking the short silence that dawned after George’s question. John nodded with a lop-sided smile as he went to get the hot water. 

“I’m just so angry, Mr. Lennon. This has never happened before. My flowers have always lived for quite a long time, never a couple days!” he groaned while John poured the water into his cup. George dunked the teabag a couple times, letting the water change to a light brown. "Now I'm going to single-handedly sink my family's entire shop because I guess my green thumb's gone brown." 

“Maybe it’s because of your mindset, you know? After all, many things are all in the mind.” John poked his forehead.  

“I dunno.” George sipped his warm drink. 

“Has anything happened lately that might be stressing you out?”  

George shrugged. “Well, I’ve just taken over the entire shop since my mum is much too old to do it anymore. I used to have siblings who would help me, but they soon got on with their own lives, and left it all and me behind.” 

“So it’s just you?” 

“Well, no my mum helps behind the register, but I take care of the rest.”  

“You know I read in a book once that negativity can harm the growth of plants.” John pointed out. 

“Was it The Encyclopedia of Mumbo Jumbo?” George joked, John feigned hurt. 

“Cheeky bastard.” John commented. “But really, maybe that’s got something to do with it.” George gave another clueless shrug. “I also read that singing or playing music helps plants too.”  

“Oh, well would you like to come over and put on a live performance for them?” George sarcastically asked. 

“Well I do strum a bit of guitar, I’ll have you know.” George nodded, bringing the cup up to his lips again.  

“Maybe you’d like to play for me sometime?” George half heartedly suggested.  

“I’d love to.” John warmly answered. George looked around the room and leaned forward to see into the actual bookstore.  

“So do you run this store by yourself?” John gave a nod. “Don’t you get rather lonely with no one to help you?” 

“Not really. I like the time for myself when there are no customers, let’s me catch up on my reading.” 

“How about on your cleaning?”  

“Tell you what, Geo. I’ll serenade you if you clean my shop.” John offered. George scoffed. 

“How do I know you wouldn’t let it get like this again the next day?”  

“Good point. We can make it a weekly thing then!” the two man shared a laugh. 

"You're a strange man." George said. "You keep yourself cooped up with nothing but books, and you're happy." 

"Just how I am." John told him, sounding slightly offended.  

"I'm not knocking you, I think I might envy you a little." The florist let the last droplets of tea slide down his throat. George couldn’t believe how good he felt compared to just earlier. Though the thought of going back to his shop and seeing the dead flowers remained and dropped a stone in his stomach. George placed his cup down, and forced himself to stand up even though a crushing force fought against him.  

“I really have to go. Thanks for the tea, Mr. Lennon.” he solemnly said, pushing the chair in. John walked with him out into the store, and watched the younger man drag his feet out and across the street. 

\---

The next day came, and it was even more miserable for the florist. Not only was he running a shop of decaying flowers with not a customer in sight, but the sun was hidden away by the dreary clouds. The store was empty, the regular customers who would stop by just to smell the flowers were nowhere to be seen. All of them migrated to next best flowershop that most certainly was not George's George hadn’t bothered with opening the curtains, as there was barely enough sunlight to help him. He held his watering can to his plants, hopelessly showering them in hopes that it would do something. 

“George.” his mother beckoned. George turned to face her. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It must just be the season and this weather.” George knew that was a lie to make him feel better. She got up from behind the register. “I’m going to take a walk to the store. Do you need anything.” George told her he didn’t, and with a light exhale, she was on her way. George now stood alone in the shop, the air extremely heavy, almost suffocating. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the flowers as they taunted him. He hid his face in his hands, shielding his now wet eyes. He was so caught up in his wild emotions that he didn’t notice John come into the store with a case in one hand and a bag in the other. 

“Oh, George, not this again!” he rushed to George’s side, blatant concern on his face. His hands moved to George’s, trying to pull them down. “Geo, come on look at me. Come on, Georgie, please.” John begged. George finally obliged, shamefully lowering his hands to his sides. He gave a sniffle as his bloodshot eyes finally darted around him, only to stop on John’s worried expression.  

“Look at this, Mr. Lennon!” he gestured around him. “Does this look like something a good gardener would have?!” George spread his arms out, his voice sounded strained and broken. John’s brow furrowed as he looked at the limp plants that surrounded them. 

“It’s alright. Just a small bump that’s all.” John comforted him. He took a few steps around the room, noticing a rose on the counter. It was not completely dead, but it was close to it. “Look this little fella here isn’t dead.” 

“Not yet.” he grumbled. “And how do you know it’s a fella?”  

John shrugged. “Dunno, but I’ve got a pretty good connection to him. Has he got a name?” 

“No, it’s a rose.” 

“Can you name him John Two?” John asked, trying to pry some happy emotion out of George. George rolled his eyes. 

“Sure, fine." George dismissively waved. "It doesn’t matter, John Two will be dead in a matter of days knowing me.” he crossed his arms. 

“Nah, I think he’s in good hands.” 

“You’re just saying that.” George grumbled.  

“Well, look I’ve brought something to help!” John ran to his discarded things. He opened the case to reveal an acoustic guitar. He held it up for George to see.  

“I wasn’t serious about a live performance, you know.” George wiped his eye with another sniff. 

"I was.” John said, his fingers aimlessly strumming the strings. 

“Do you really think you playing a guitar is gonna instantly help these plants?” George spat. 

“Not instantly. Nothing is instant.” was all John said as he played a few notes. George, keeping his arms crossed, huffed and turned away from John. His teeth biting his bottom lip to suppress more tears. John continued playing, the notes beginning to soothe the distressed florist with its calm melody. The wordless song was light hearted and caused that heaviness to lighten in George’s constricted chest. George knew it wasn’t possible, but as the older man played, he swore that his plants already seemed greener. This of course wasn’t the case, but light did appear to shine on them. Bewildered, George went to the shop window and opened the closed curtain to reveal that the clouds were actually beginning to migrate and break apart to allow some sun beams through.  

“Here comes the sun.” George mindlessly commented, temporarily blinded by the light. 

“That could make for a good lyric.” John said, ending his song. Snickering, George stepped away from the window, but not before bathing in the sudden warmth. George approached the bookshop owner, a shy smile on his face.  

“Thanks, Mr. Lennon.”  

“Still with the formality?” George pulled John in for an embrace, much to the surprise of the older man. He at last reciprocates the gesture, arms tightly around the florist.  

“I suppose this means you’re feeling just a little better?” John questioned, pulling out of the hug.  

“A bit. Think you want to come by and do that again?” George suggested.  

“Only if you clean my shop, remember out deal?” George faltered at the thought of having to sort through all of the dusty piles upon piles of out of place books. John light-heartedly laughed. “Only teasing. I’ll come back free of charge.” George let out a relieved sigh. George then looked beyond John to the bag laying on the ground. 

“And what’s that?” he pointed out.  

“Oh, right!” John hurriedly went to grab the bag and bring it over. He reached inside and pulled out the familiar green book. “You forgot this.” John said, handing it back to him. George knew that he had returned it, but now he couldn’t bear to part with the green garden book. Holding it to his chest, he thanked John again. John pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch.  

“I really have to go, but I hope we can meet up again soon. Maybe at a much happier time?” 

“Yes, I’d like that.” George said. They exchanged glances one last time before John did a tip of that same red-feathered hat and departed.  

After that day, George’s moods improved greatly. The shop seemed brighter again, and much more lively than before. Slowly, yet surely, the colors were returning to the grey shop. Especially since John had began stopping by regularly to play his music and chat, much to the pleasure of both George and his mother. His mother told John that she’s never seen her son so happy. He had always been a quiet, loner type, not forming many relationships. It was great to see her son finally around someone who brought that wonderful smile to his face as he watered and took care of the flowers. Maybe not right away, but over time, the flowers in the shop began to finally bloom, and not die within a matter of a few days. Customers began to come back over time, and the shop was back to where it was. Things were beginning to finally look up for the young florist.  

\---

Another day rolled around, and George decided that it was time to visit John in his shop for once. He let his mother know, she gave a nod and told him she would be fine on her own since it was an especially slow day. Just as George was about to walk out of the door, he remembered something important. He ran over to the register and grabbed the green book next to the now healthy John Two, and rushed outside.  

John greeted George at the door, knowing he was coming over. They hugged briefly as John lead him inside.  

“Hello, Mr. Lennon.” he said, a light shade of scarlet on his face. 

“Hello, Georgie-Porgie.” John greeted. George crinkled his nose and raised a bushy eyebrow. 

“Another nickname, huh?” 

“You love them.” he said, pushing back the feathered hat on his head. 

“Do you always wear that thing?” 

“Only when I know you’re coming.” 

“Place still a mess?” George teased. “You sure you don’t want me to clean it up? Maybe actually put your books in a proper order?” John shook his head. 

“Nah, I told you, I quite like it like this.”  

“It’s exciting, right?”  

“Yes, exactly. Never know-“ 

“What you may find while searching.” George finished.  

“Yes, you never know.” the two gazed at each other, seemingly lost for a moment. That is until John took notice of the gardening book in George’s hand. 

“You’re not here to return it are you?” George laughed and shook his head, handing the book to him. 

“No, no, open it.” he told John. The older man flipped through the book, confused as to why George was having him do this, until he came across a stained page. He wondered what it was, then turned it and saw the culprit. A small, white flower pressed in between the pages. Under it was a sticky note that read, ‘Dinner? I’ll cook.’  

“You know, you could have just asked.” John pointed out, carefully holding the flattened flower up to his nose. He placed it back into the pages and shut the book. 

“This seemed much more interesting. Plus, I just don’t know how else to thank you for what you’ve done.” 

“You’re the gardener here, Georgie. I didn’t do anything.” 

“Yeah, but I think you were right about that stuff with your emotions and all.” George told him. 

“You trying to say love made the plants grow?” John asked, fluttering his eyelashes. George playfully gave John’s arm a slap. 

“Maybe, you sappy git.” John actually felt himself giggle. They held another long gaze in each other before John began to move in closer. George realized what he was doing, and instead of pulling away, his eyes shut. Their lips connected as George wrapped his arms around John’s neck, holding him steady. He felt John’s hands snake around his waist as their kiss deepened. John stifled another giggle as the hairs of George’s mustache tickled him. When it came time for the two to finally breathe, they broke apart, and touched their foreheads together.  

“So are we on for dinner, John?” George breathlessly asked. John didn’t answer at first, too thrilled at the use of his first name. 

“It’s a date.” John answered. “But first, how about some tea? I have to tell you about this book I’ve just finished.” George and him linked arms, taking their time walking to the back room. George glanced at the man he had grown so close with, a toothy smile lingered on his thin face. Yes, things were beginning to look up for the young, once lonely florist, George and the bookshop owner, John.


End file.
